The Weight of the World
by TheNonstopHero
Summary: Taking place after the finale of the anime, Rei Miyamoto finds herself separated from her friends and, in a chance encounter, meets up with a young man who has a bizarre past connected to the undead infestation. 11/25/12 Update: Prologue, Chapter 1 rewritten and reorganized. Chapter 2 will see a similar treatment in the coming days. Rating also changed just to be safe.
1. Prologue: Document

_"This is a document  
_

_to prove that I was here"  
_

* * *

** My name is Gregory Atlus. And this is a document of my journey through Hell on Earth.**

** At the time of this writing, I'm nineteen years of age, and I'm someone who has a rather intimate knowledge of what's been happening across the world in the past few weeks. The fact that this plague of walking death has finally spread to a global scale wasn't something that I wasn't ready for. I'd hoped my years of chasing down answers would somehow give me the tools I needed to expose this danger to the world and prepare them for the dark clouds on the horizon. Safe to say, I wasn't able to do so, and this leaves me with an overwhelming sense of disappointment with myself.  
**

** Admittedly, my original motivation for seeking reason for what I was forced to endure as a nine year old boy was far simpler than that of some grandeur idea of saving the world. I wanted to know what the hell I had just lived through, and I wanted to know what became of a loved one. But with each passing year my curiosity only deepened, and as I began to further understand the world around me I was able to slowly peel away layer after layer of the shroud which kept the truth a mystery to me. Only when I had finally reached the center of it all did I learn the horrific reality of the shambling corpses which cover the world today;  
**

** There were no answers. Nobody knew what they were, or where they came from. Not even at the highest levels of the world government.  
**

** In the following pages, you'll read everything I've learned about and witnessed over the past nine years. How an American boy ended up in Japan, how he survived a similar outbreak once before, and how he was able to blow the lid off a conspiracy that ended up not existing. My story is an unbelievable one, no doubt. But then again, if you can't wrap your head around my words then you probably couldn't wrap your head around the idea of the living dead, either.  
**

* * *

Clicking the small button atop his pen once, Gregory closed the small notepad he was writing in and set it down on the park bench he was perched upon.

"Huh. Not a bad foreword if I do say so myself" he muttered aloud before tucking the pen in to a shirt pocket. "Shame nobody will ever read this crap."

Slowly his head swiveled from one side to the other, eyes carefully scanning the rather tranquil public park for signs of activity. In spite of the Hell that surrounded him on a day to day basis, Greg was certainly the type to still stop and enjoy a moment like this every now and again. For some reason he much preferred to sit on the back rest of the bench with his feet on the actual seat, probably because the added foot or so of height allowed him to get a better view about him. Or, maybe he was just crazy and he _thought_ he could somehow see things a little clearer from up here. Thankfully, however, aside from the stray shambling figure hundreds of yards away beyond the park gates, not a whole lot was going on. For now, a moment of safety.

Gregory Atlus could best be described as an athletic looking fellow. Standing at an inch or two shy of six feet tall, his physical build suggested that he was a good sprinter, but he probably wouldn't be punching his way through brick walls any time soon. Greg's facial features instantly showed that he wasn't of Japanese decent; he was, in fact, an American born boy, both of his parents being able to trace their ancestry back to American settlers of the 1700's. His complexion was a little on the pale side, his brown eyes always having a tired and worn down look about them. Greg kept his jet black hair short and neat, the front of his hair coming up in to a neat little puffed spike. He also liked to grow his sideburns out and allow a full, neatly groomed chin-strap to frame his face. His chin, however, wasn't as neatly trimmed, a small puffy goatee always present.

Mister Atlus made it a point to raid at least one high end retailer for some fresh threads during his travels. Greg had always figured that should worst come to worst, he'd rather his corpse be an incredibly fashionable one instead of one dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He wore a long sleeve black button down shirt with both sleeves tugged up above his elbows. The shirt wore the signature of some (apparently) well known designer that Greg had never heard of, and it was buttoned all the way up save for the top button or two. It remained un-tucked, the shirt doing a good job of hiding the two objects that were attached to his belt; a small silver flask to his right, and on the left, four fully-loaded magazines for his Ruger-made SR1911 model handgun. His handgun was holstered in a police-style chest holster that was worn openly, the grip always in easy reach for Greg whenever the situation called for it. From the waist down Greg wore, again, designer jeans with some designer's name on it and a hefty price tag. They fit rather comfortably, the dark denim having small series of cuts up and down them... both caused by being roughed up, and apparently, because fashion. At his feet were some rather comfortable running shoes in black. The choice of shoe seemed to clash with the rest of his motif, but if there was one thing Greg wasn't willing to compromise on, it was being fleet-footed.

A rather strong and warm breeze blew through the park, causing the pages of Greg's small journal to flutter open, his hand quickly going down to stop the book from going anywhere. With a bit of reluctance he decided it was best not to rest on his laurels and to continue on his journey. Looking up to the sky, Greg could see that daylight was beginning to fade. By Greg's general rules of survival, he'd prefer to either find shelter or continue traveling at a high rate of speed once the sun went down. For the second option, Greg made it a point to 'borrow' a motorcycle fit for the job from a small importer he came upon during his journey.

Parked beside the park bench was a Triumph Tiger 800XC, a motorcycle that was purpose built to maneuver over harsh terrain while carrying a sufficient amount of luggage. Being able to navigate a post-apocalyptic urban landscape as well as crossing mountain trails and small rivers quickly was key to surviving in this new, hostile world. Greg was sure to stash his journal in to one of the large, metal cases mounted on either side of the bike before climbing up upon the behemoth of a motorcycle and getting comfortable. Turning the key and bringing the bike to life, Greg was rather thankful that this machine was particularly quiet with it's factory exhaust fitted. It was much unlike the loud, quick dirt bikes he often rode as a teenager.

Still, the hum of the engine would be sure to attract attention from _something_, so it was important not to dawdle. His brown eyes darted down to a map he had taped to the gas tank and found his location quickly. After only a few seconds of studying, Greg had his next destination in mind, and wasted no time clicking the bike in to gear and navigating his way out of the park. Riding over the rolling hills of unusually long grass and out one of the open gates, once he hit asphalt Greg slid the throttle wide open and shot down the open road ahead of him. The staggering undead that littered the streets weren't nearly nimble or numerous enough to catch something so fast.


	2. Chapter 1: Things that go 'bump'

_"I'm swimming through this nightmare_

_Where black waves pull me under..."_

* * *

Moving through an urban landscape on foot after hours was always a risky proposition, or at least that's what Rei Miyamoto had learned through past experiences still fresh in mind. In spite of everything else she had lived through thus far, Rei had this feeling of trepidation that she just couldn't shake. Then again, in a situation such as this, how _could_ someone shake a sense of impending doom? Slowly and quietly she made her way down a dark city street, the flashlight attached to Rei's Springfield M1A1 providing the only light for the path ahead. The neighborhood she was in seemed particularly quiet, suggesting that there was only a small undead presence. Of course Rei didn't let her guard down because of that; for all she knew there could have been a nearby house or two filled with a two dozen of them, only needing a single sound loud enough to draw their attention.

Under any normal circumstances, Rei would never be out alone like this after dark. But a few days ago, while holed up in a police station for the night with her friends, her group came under attack by some 'survivors' who wished to raid the precinct for supplies. During the scuffle it appeared that Rei's traveling partners all got separated in one way or another, and she was on a quest to regroup with them. There was much about the sudden attack on her group's shelter that came across as odd (as odd as something like this could be given the situation), but Rei hadn't dwell on it too much since it happened. For her, the most important thing now was survival long enough to find her friends. She'd try to make more sense of it later.

Several hours after the scuffle, Rei had crossed paths with another high school student that was running for her life from a small horde of the undead. She introduced herself to Rei as Michiru, and Rei had been traveling with her since. Rei found it amazing that Michiru had been able to survive for as long as she had... Rei learned very fast, within moments of meeting her, that Michiru was a coward in every sense of the word and couldn't bring herself to fight off a corpse even if her life depended on it. She was, however, quite friendly and very thankful for Rei's help, and Rei wasn't about to turn her back to the poor girl. Michiru was dressed in a blue and white school uniform not all to dissimilar from the one Rei wore, though Michiru's was in a severe state of disrepair. Both her skirt and shirt had slices, blood splatters and other filth all over them, the uniform itself telling quite a story. Michiru was also short, probably less than five feet tall, and very petite. Her hair was short, the straight dyed-blonde hair not making it past her ear lobes, and her eyes were a very deep blue.

Rei kept her breathing quiet and steady as she slowly walked heel to toe, her rifle up and ready as she looked down the iron sights in to the barely-lit road ahead of her. In the month or so since the outbreak happened, Rei had at least become proficient with her firearm... failing that, the bayonet at the business end of the gun seemed to work quite well in pinch. The occasional groan or shuffling of a corpse could be heard every few seconds, causing Michiru to cling tightly to the back of Rei's shirt.

"U-um, Rei?" Michiru whimpered, Rei glancing over her shoulder to look at Michiru and pausing her advance. In the pale moonlight Rei was able to make out the expression of complete and utter fear on Michiru's face, her blue eyes glossing up with tears as she brushed a stray lock of her short blonde hair from her eyes. Rei knew exactly what Michiru was feeling, and she could see (and sympathize with) the fear that Michiru must have been dealing with. But Rei tried to keep a stern and reassuring expression on her face.

"What is it?" Rei whispered

"Th-they're... all around us... I can hear them... can't you?" Michiru said, her whisper turning in to a quiet though high pitched squeal of terror by the end of her sentence.

"Of course I can." Rei replied as she faced forward and continued her slow march down the street. "But as long as we stay quiet, we'll be fine. Just trust me on this. I promise I'll find us shelter."

Upon reaching the end of the street, Rei and Michiru found themselves at a four way intersection. Rei kept her wits about her, scanning the intersection for any activity before her sights settled upon something that was a bit out of place this long in to the outbreak; a motorcycle. The metallic paint still had a luster to it when Rei's flashlight hit it, suggesting that the bike had been used or cleaned recently since there was no layer of dust upon it. More importantly, a motorcycle still upright that appeared to still be in working order. When Rei moved the beam of her flashlight away from the bike, a small and dull red light could be seen blinking on the bike's speedometer. This was well within the reach of the EMP shockwave caused by that missle, so _somebody_ had to have rode it here. 'A survivor?' she thought to herself, bringing the flashlight up a bit to see what the bike was parked next to; a convenience store.

Michiru, seeing the bike, interpreted it quite differently. Michiru saw a mode of transportation, a way to quickly navigate their way out of this scary place. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind as to whether or not either of them knew how to operate a motorcycle, much less one that looked so large and cumbersome.

"Hey! Rei! Look!" Michiru exclaimed excitedly, leaving Rei's side and jogging over to the bike. Figures, the coward in Michiru decided to come roaring out at an inopportune time. It was obvious that she made little to no effort controlling the volume of her voice, either.

"No, Michiru, wait!" Rei called out as best she could in a hushed voice, though judging by some increasingly loud groans it looks like they'd already brought enough attention to themselves.

Just then, a loud crash was heard within the convenience store, one so loud it echoed throughout the dark streets. Very slowly the sounds of shuffling feet and feral growls began to fill the night, growing louder with every passing second...


	3. Chapter 2: The Enemy of my Enemy

_Saints and Sinners_

_Say the world is black and white  
_

"God damnit!" Greg growled angrily, bringing one of his feet up to kick over a shelf in his fit of rage. The shelf ended up hitting another shelf, which then hit the floor in a loud crash.

"What the hell, of all the things to loot during the apocallypse, why the _hell_ does everyone go for the energy drinks, first? What's a guy gotta do to get his hands on a Rockstar or something?!"

Greg swung the heavy mag-lite in his hand at the empty drink freezer and smashed through the glass door before turning on one heel and heading for the door. With his flashlight he decided to take another glance around the store as he went for the exit, freezing in his tracks when he saw another sight that just further rubbed salt in the wounds.

"Oh, hey, great. Bread aisle and cereal aisle are fully stocked!" he once again found himself shouting as he stared in disbelif at the piles of consumables now on the floor. "Don't worry, this is just the end of the world. No need to try and eat or survive, just grab all the caffiene. At least now we'll end up as _really energetic_ reanimated corpses instead of the slow and boring ones..." With another huff, Greg used the flashlight to navigate his way through the store, though he was met with surprise when he rounded a corner and saw what was going on outside of the store window.

Killing his flashlight he pressed himself against a corner and cautiously peeked around it. There was a flashlight, and what looked like a (still living) girl making her way to his Tiger in a rather spirited manner. This wouldn't have been the first time Greg saw it happen; either she figured the bike was abandonned, or she was going to try and steal it. Like hell he'd let that bike go. Ignoring the sounds of the approaching undead Greg hastily made his way though the store, unholstering his 1911 from it's chest holster as he stormed out the front door.

Just as Rei had guessed, her flashlight and rifle trained on the man who came charging out of the store with a gun drawn, now aimed for Michiru.

"Must be the owner..." she muttered to herself, taking her eyes off of him for only a minute just to make sure she wasn't about to become a tasty meal for one of the flesh eaters. Still, she could hear them all approaching, and this situation was getting worse by the minute.

"Alright, kiddo." Greg said, his pistol aimed at the blonde who was now under his flashlight as well. "Living. Dead. I don't care. Get away from it or your head goes pop." Greg could see the horror on the young girl's face as she stumbled back, her bottom lip quivering as her eyes welled up.

"I... um.. I-I..." Michiru studdered as she carefully paced backwards, unaware of what lurked behind her. Greg's eyes widened slightly as he pointed his gun at the corpse that was already reaching out for the little blonde.

"Behind you, kid!" Greg shouted, though it was too late. The monster behind Michiru already had the girl in it's loving embrace, her shrieks and cries of pain echoing throughout the night as the beast began to feed upon her. Her pleas for help were heard loud and clear, but there wasn't a whole lot left to be done. The instant she was grabbed, Rei already had her weapon pointed at the corpse who'd latched on to Michiru. Though the sickening feeling of having to watch a girl she'd started to befriend get eaten alive, having to hear the screams, combined with the dim light made a clear shot for the monster impossible.

Greg on the other hand knew full well there was no saving Michiru at this point, so he opened fire. Squeezing the trigger several times, the sound of gunshots rang out in to the night only attracting more and more of the undead. Of the eight or so shots Greg fired, two struck Michiru ending her life. Another lucky shot took the head off of her attacker. In the darkness around them, Rei and Greg could see the dark figures getting closer and closer. Lots of them. Instead of aiming at the undead, though, Rei found her gun pointed at the stranger, finally giving her a clear look at the man.

He stood at just under six feet tall, and his face seemed youthful, though he clearly had features that suggested he wasn't a native of Japan. His eyes were brown, and his hair was jet black. His hair was kept trimmed short with a slight spiked puff in the front, and his facial hair was neatly trimmed in to a strap that framed his face. From his chin he had a bit more hair that wasn't kept quite as tidy, forming a bit of a goatee. He seemed athletic, though a thin; perhaps he'd run a hundred yards no problem, but he wouldn't be busting any doors down with his bare hands.

He was also dressed rather expensive and fashionably, no doubt clothes that had been 'borrowed' much like she assumed his motorcycle was. Either that, or this kid was loaded. A short sleeve black buttoned shirt covered his upper half while dark jeans covered the lower, and he wore some sort of combat boots on his feet. In one hand he held a large mag-lite flashlight which he currently had by his side, and his other hand held a pistol that was pointed straight at Rei. The man also wore a chest holster, similar to one that her father might wear while on duty.

"She was harmless, that could have been avoided if you didn't come out waving a gun in her face!" Rei exclaimed, the grip on her rifle tightening, her teeth clenching in anger.

"People live in this world by making smart moves, lady. People die by making stupid ones. So how 'bout you, eh? You gonna pull that trigger and make a stupid mistake, or you gonna aim that thing at the bigger problems around us and make a smart move?" Greg answered, his firearm still aimed right at Rei.


End file.
